


i fell in love with a careless man's careful daughter

by youareiron_andyouarestrong



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: F/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 07:03:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 16,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6145537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youareiron_andyouarestrong/pseuds/youareiron_andyouarestrong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a series of one-shots, prompts and snippets between Jack and Katherine as found/posted on my Tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. proposal/modern!au

**_i fell in love with a careless man's careful daughter,_ **

**_she is the best thing that's ever been mine..._ **

//

It was a Thursday night and for once, it was quiet in Jack’s apartment. Katherine was over going over her newest article and Jack was working on concept art for one of the backdrops at the theater. 

Katherine stopped editing and stretches slowly, feeling the pop and crack in her spine as she straightens. “ _Ow,”_ she muttered, cracking her fingers, rotating her wrist. 

Jack looked up, face concerned. “You alright over there, Ace?”

Katherine nodded, wincing, working out the kinks. “I’m fine, just cramped. Writing on this article’s a killer.”   

Jack made a sympathetic noise. “I know what you mean, Ace. Work’s been hard too, lately.”

Katherine raised her eyebrows, saving her document and lowering the lid of the laptop. “Speaking of work…I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks. What have you been doing all this time?”

“Taking on extra shifts at the theater,” Jack replied absently. “Plus, my comic’s getting more traction. I got at least three more newspapers asking for it.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Katherine sincerely, because it is. Jack’s comic, _The Manhattan Irregulars_ had been developed a bit of a underground following in college. Now he did that _and_ a political cartoon that was rapidly gaining popularity in several newspapers. “You’ve been doing more cartoons, managing for the theater _and_ the web comic? No wonder I hardly ever see you anymore.”

She got up and perched herself on the arm of the sofa besides him.  “Why’re you working so many jobs at once?” 

She meant the question casually, so Jack’s absent reply didn’t register right away: “So I can marry you faster.” 

Katherine blinked at this and felt her equilibrium waver dangerously. “Sorry?”

Jack looked up, his eyes wide open and guileless. “I’ve been meaning to ask for awhile now, Ace. Just wanted to be sure I could support us both before I ask.”

“Do–” Katherine swallowed hard, still scrambling for balance. “Do I get a _say_ in this? Are you _proposing_ to me, right this very minute?”

Jack lowered his sketch pad and stared into her face. “Well, I’d like to get a ring first before I do that–” Katherine made a slightly strangled noise and Jack’s look of alarm grew. “Ace, Katherine, I’ve wanted to marry you since high school.”

There are a lot of things Katherine should say to his, mostly things like _we’re too young,_ or _we’re still figuring things out_ or _what about jobs? Careers? Our families?_ but all of those things fade in the presence of Jack’s face. 

She’s known him for almost thirteen years. He’s the one she calls first after triumphs and losses, who knows how she takes her coffee, the way she sleeps and her rage and her joy. And she knows _him,_ his parents, his friends, his fears and hopes and really, who _else_ is there? Is there anyone else she wants to spend her life with? There isn’t, and really, once Jack Kelly snuck up on her, that was pretty much it, on Katherine’s end. 

She swallowed once, hard. It was very strange, to think of the ways your life could change out of nowhere, when you were least expecting it. 

She lowered herself carefully into his lap, knees on either side of his legs, the sketchpad and laptop forgotten. “I’d–I’d like to help you find a ring, if you’re okay with it,” she said finally. “I–I have some ideas.” 

Jack’s hands came to settle on her hips, as he stared into her face. “I am _more_ than okay with that Ace,” he said seriously and because he was _Jack,_ his smile promptly threatened to split his face in half. “You really mean it?”

“Did _you?”_ she inquired and the look on his face was homecoming. 

“Ace, I meant it from the moment I laid eyes on you.” 


	2. princess/bodyguard!au

**_i’ll be your light, your match, your burning sun,_ **

**_i’ll be the bright in black that’s making you run…_ **

**_i’ll be your fifty thousand clapping like one_ **

//

Well, see, here’s the thing. It _seemed_ like a great idea at the time, which is really all the justification Jack needs to do anything. 

Even if that _anything_ is nearly getting caught with his head between the legs of one Katherine Plumber, also known as the “Princess of New York.” 

Yeah, he doesn’t even regret it. 

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into that,” she complains. Her dainty, perfect up-do is only _slightly_ askew and the fact he’s responsible for it gives him all kinds of smug, satisfied male feelings. 

“Sweetheart, you didn’t _let me_ talk you into anything,” Jack reminds her with a grin. “ _You_ were the one who dragged me back there.”

There is only the faintest flush on her cheekbones, and he can’t help but admire the hell out of her poise. Considering what they were doing not ten minutes ago. 

“I didn’t think you’d take me up on it,” she retorts and Jack raises one eyebrow.

“Katherine, we’ve known each other for, what, five years now? When have you _ever_ known me to back down from a challenge?”

She pretends to be all dignified and serious before the troublemaker’s grin he knows and loves so well breaks out all over her face. “Never.”     

He takes her hand and lightly kisses the back of it, then the place where her pulse beats. “I don’t make bets I can’t win, princess,” he says and with her free hand, she hits his shoulder gently. 

“Don’t call me that,” she says, making a face. He kisses her hand one more time in silent apology. 

So, he’s Katherine’s bodyguard. So, her father is the CEO of a major social networking site that’s basically taken over the world and Katherine’s his only daughter, his only _child._ So Jack Kelly’s a kid from Manhattan, the only son of a construction worker and a third grade teacher. Not one bit of that mattered the minute he laid eyes on Katherine, when she was having a furious fight with her father about the “complete and total unnecessary display of alpha male tendencies and high-handed attempts at controlling my life with the presence of a bodyguard.” That had been it, for Jack. Race was always telling him he’s got a thing for women who yell and yeah, he’s right. Jack’s not going to deny it. 

Katherine Plumber is attending Columbia University to pursue her degree in investigative journalism, Katherine refuses to live in her father’s penthouse in uptown Manhattan, she rooms in the dorm with her best friends since childhood, she’ll take pizza over Chinese food any day, cries at the newest Disney movie and says his name like a growl and a curse when he’s taking his sweet time about it.  Which is a lot, really, now that he thinks about it. 

And the thing is, he’s not stupid, he’s _not,_ whatever Race or Davey says. There’s no future for the two of them, no happily-ever-after waiting in the wings. Girls like Katherine Plumber don’t go for guys like him, not for forever. The six months he’s gotten are an unlooked for blessing, a gift and Jack hoards them like gold.

They’re arriving at the gala now, and she’s putting on her game face, head held high, shoulders back, spine straight. She walks like the all the world was made for her and maybe it is. Made for her to conquer and make right. And if he can follow her, for a month, for a year, for the rest of his life, then that’s fine. That’s good. He can live with that. 

So he hopes. So he prays.  


	3. waiter/regular customer!au

The waitress is reading again.

Jack’s been coming to Medda’s place for years, they’ve had all manner of waitresses and waiters come through the establishment. Medda takes in all kind of strays; she’s nice like that. 

But this one has been here for about three weeks and every time Jack sees her, she’s got her nose buried in a newspaper, a book, or a tablet. Every time someone sits at one of her tables, she tucks the first thing to come to hand to mark the place where she’s been reading if it’s a book–napkin, spoon, the edge of a plate–and goes to take their order and as soon as it’s made, she goes right back to whatever she’s reading. Jack’s given himself a crick in the neck multiple times because he’s trying to see what’s she been reading. 

She’s pretty, which might be why the guys in her section don’t complain so much, she’s got one of those pretty, delicate faces that makes a man want to tuck her under their arm and keep her safe. But she’s got a confident stance and a straight spine, a steely smile for the rowdy ones. So Jack tries to make as little demands on her as possible when she serves him, even when his coffee’s gotten cold. 

So one cold autumn evening, when he’s enjoying a slice of apple pie at the counter, there’s a bit of a ructions from one of the tables behind him. Some idiot keeps trying to pull the reading waitress into the booth next to him (or maybe into his lap–it’s hard to tell), and the way her teeth are bared is _definitely_ not a smile. Medda isn’t in today; otherwise she’d be throwing the guy out in a minute, she doesn’t tolerate customers manhandling the waitresses. Jack pushes his plate aside and begins to rise, casually picking up his artist’s bag–it makes for a good blunt instrument–when the waitress leans over, takes the still faintly steaming cup of coffee and pours the whole thing into his lap. The customer spring up with a yell and a curse that brings the cook running and she lifts her chin like she’s ready for a fight.

Jack comes forward instantly, even as the other guy starts to yell, and says firmly, “You keep your mitts to yourself in Medda’s. That’s the rules and if you don’t follow ‘em, you deserve what you get.” 

“He try to grab you Kath?” asks Koppelman the cook.

She glowers. “Twice in the times I took his order and when I served his coffee.”

Koppleman nods decisively. He points at the coffee-stained, spluttering customer: “You, out. And don’t come back. Company policy.” 

“You can’t do that,” says the jerk indignantly. 

“Right to refuse service,” the waitress snaps. “The door is that way.”

The door in questions slams so hard the bell sound is cut off. Koppelman sighs and turns to the waitress: “You alright Kath?”

She nods. “I’m alright Abram. I’m sorry I wasted good coffee.” 

“Just don’t make it a habit,” he informs her and turns a gimlet eye on Jack. “Keep an eye out, alright?” He shuffles off back to the kitchen. 

The waitress–Kath–sighs and looks at the mess left behind with displeasure. “Here,” Jack says and immediately goes and brings back a handful of napkins, starts mopping up the coffee. “Let me.” 

She eyes him. “That’s my job you know.” 

He shrugs, smiles a little. “I figure I can lend a hand.” 

Between the two of them, they tidy up the mess and Jack goes back to his pie. She goes behind the counter and without him asking, tops off his coffee cup. “Thank you. For coming to my support back there.”

“No problem,” he assures her. “If it happens again, just tell Medda. She’ll straighten them out.” 

“You’re one of the regulars,” she observes. 

“Medda’s my godmother,” he explains. “This is pretty much my second home.” Remembering his manners (he _does_ have them), he holds out his hand, “Jack Kelly.”

She shakes it. “Katherine Plumber. You need anything else?”

“No ma’am,” he assures her with a grin. “I’m alright.” 

The next time he comes in, she gets him a turkey sandwich without him having to order it and he gets the chance to ask her, “What’re you reading today?”  

Eventually, he gets to buy her a drink–somewhere else. 


	4. best friends since forever!au

**_the way you make me feel,_ **

**_the way you turn me on,_ **

**_the way you knock me off of my feet, girl,_ **

**_my lonely days are gone_ **

//

Katherine has known Jack Kelly for about…going on almost eight years now. They survived high school, political rallies, questionable restaurants, college, her father’s wrath and Spot Conlon’s shenanigans together. His best friend was dating—and now engaged to— _her_ best friend. She knows him as well as she does herself.

It doesn’t explain why her heart’s starting to pound every time she sees him.

In retrospect, she blamed all the wedding talk Clara and Davey were going through. And as Clara’s maid of honor, a lot of wedding planning aspects fell to her, and Jack was Davey’s best man. So of _course_ they were spending a lot of time together.

Like, a _lot_ of time.

They have to coordinate the showers, the bachelor/bachelorette parties, help with the decisions of various decorations and guests, keep Clara and Davey from losing their respective minds…it’s a full time job. Katherine was seriously considering eloping when her time came around—if it ever did. She and Jack went all over New York helping get ready for the wedding and now, with a week to go and they hadn’t had a break for three, Katherine was starting to wonder if she could just play dead whenever her phone started playing Clara’s ringtone.

Jack, apparently in similar straits, showed up at her apartment with the latest Disney/Pixar movie, a case of beer and in his oldest, most worn, comfortable sweatpants.

“I put Race and Les on best man duty,” he told Katherine, stepping into her apartment without preamble.  “I figure Davey can survive without me for a few hours.”

Katherine took the beer and shut the door behind him, smiling. “Clara will have to make do.”

So while Jack set up the movie, Katherine got the bottle opener and then went to change into _her_ flannel pajama pants. They’d done this a million times before, she told herself. In high school, in college. It was a tradition now, she realized, cartoons and beer with Jack when they needed a break from life. It’s absolutely _not_ a reason why she should feel so jittery and expectant.

She went back out into her living room, turned her phone on silent and curled up next to Jack, him casually pulling a throw blanket over both them. It does _not_ make goosebumps break out over her skin.

They watched the short first and Katherine, while on some level paying attention to the cartoon, was also sneaking glances at Jack. The wedding planning was running him ragged too, a darker jaw than he was accustomed to, deeper circles under his eyes. She was going to have to do something about this, Katherine thought, and wondered when it became second nature to think about taking care of him.

Once the movie got underway, Jack’s arm slid easily around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. She’d been curled up against him hundreds of times, tucked against the side of his body and one ear resting on his chest, but she never noticed until today how _warm_ he is, it was like sitting next to a fireplace.

At some point, one of his hands settled on her hair, absentmindedly pulling through the strands and this was _wrong_. They weren’t a couple, they were friends, they’d been friends for years and she wasn’t going to run this. She was _not_. She’d tell him so, just as soon as the movie was over.

By that time, her legs were slung across his lap and his head resting on top of hers. It felt natural and easy and it shouldn’t have scared her that much.

The credits were rolling when Jack finally moved slightly, stretching out his legs slightly and Katherine made to move. “Don’t,” he said drowsily. “I like you just where you are, Ace.”

Katherine shut her eyes, just for a second. That was just playing _dirty_ , that’s what it was. “Jack,” she said, more or less into his heartbeat, “what are we doing?”

“We are sitting on your couch,” said Jack promptly, and before she could smack him for such facetiousness, he added, “And tomorrow, we’re gonna get up and do our lives like we always do and I’m gonna come back here probably and I’m going to want to do that for the rest of our lives.”

Katherine sat up, staring into his face intently and he met her gaze steadily, no laughter in his eyes, not even hidden in the depths.

She swallowed hard. “For the rest of our lives, huh?”

“Something like that,” Jack replied gently, “if you want, Ace.”

Carefully, with the tips of her fingers, she traced the circles under his eyes, his lashes brushed against her skin light as feathers. He blinked once and kept his eyes on her face. “I—I might be okay with that,” she said finally, voice almost a whisper. “I want that.”

Jack smiled sweetly and pressed a kiss to the center of her palm.  “I’ll take you out to dinner proper,” he promised. “ _After_ the wedding.”  


	5. accidentally got married in vegas!au

**_something in the air is giving me bad ideas,_ **

**_something in the air is giving me dangerous thoughts_ **

**_like, why don’t you stay at mine tonight?_ **

//

If you were to ask Jack and Katherine, they would both tell you, “It’s all Race’s fault,” which would only be true in the sense that it was Race’s idea to stop in Las Vegas for their first-ever cross-country road trip to Santa Fe. 

And it must be admitted it was Race who started on the slippery slope of checking out wedding chapels, just for the heck of it. And maybe it was Race who started the whole, “ _hey wouldn’t be it cool to be married by Elvis?"_ train of thought. But blame must be given where blame is due.  _Race_ didn’t buy the ring and  _Race_ didn’t sign the papers. No, that was all Jack. And Katherine.

And they might have been _slightly_ tipsy, but Vegas is no stranger to ill-advised marriages with liquid courage shoring up the ambition.  

And by the time they were on the road the next morning, hungover and with plain gold bands on each of their left ring fingers, Race was driving and Davey was scolding him in a furious whisper from the passenger seat.

"My mother is going to _kill me,_ ” mourned Katherine, nursing her pounding head.

“Mine too,” Jack said, looking at the band on his finger. “Mostly because I didn’t invite her.”

Katherine looked from her hands, gauging his expression. Jack met her gaze and shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I’d been meanin’ to ask you for a while now…maybe the schedule was sped up a bit.” He looked down at his hand again. “We can get annulled on the way back if you want.”

Katherine goes very still, thinking about it. Jack might joke about some things, but the future of their relationship has never been a matter of flippancy for him. She looks down at the plain gold ring. It surprises her how well it looks there.

“If we’re still alive by the time we reach Santa Fe, I’ll consider it,” she replied and she can feel him smile from the seat besides her.

They announce the marriage with a picture on Instagram, holding hands against a Santa Fe sunset, the rings glinting against the light.    


	6. best man/maid of honor!au

__**_you kiss on sidewalks, you fight and you talk_ **   
**_one night he wakes, strange look on his face,_ ** **_pauses, then says,_ ** **_you’re my best friend_ **   
**_and you knew what it was: he is in love_ **

//

“So Davey and Clara finally tied the knot,” mused Jack, one arm comfortably around Katherine’s waist. “They look pretty happy, don’t they Ace?”

“They do,” agreed Katherine, leaning against him, watching the couple. “I’m not sure when Mr. and Mrs. Wyman will ever recover from their daughter marrying a Jewish lawyer, but the wedding has been lovely." 

"And the drinks are free,” Jack added with a grin and Katherine elbowed him in the side.

“Single ladies to the dance floor!” Race yelled from the table some poor fool had named him DJ. “It’s time for the bouquet toss!”

There was a rush of eager movement and Katherine rolled her eyes behind her champagne flute. Jack grinned and kissed her cheek. “If you catch the bouquet, I’ll catch the garter.”

“Davey’s arm isn’t _that_ good,” Katherine replied, but they split up to either side of the dance floor, where the bride and groom were, respectively.

Grinning giddily, Clara steadied herself and turned around, holding the bouquet over her head. “One…two..three!” the guests counted and the white lilies and sunflowers sailed through the air like a falling star. Entirely of their own volition, Katherine’s arms rose and she caught it neatly, feeling the flowers she helped Clara choose land squarely in her hands. From the other side of the floor, there was a roar and Katherine turned to see Jack holding a dainty scrap of ribbon and lace. He caught her eye and raised one eyebrow at the sight of her holding the bouquet and Katherine blushed.

With a grin, Jack tucked the garter into his pocket and sauntered over, taking his time, even with the whoops and hollers rising around them. “How ‘bout a dance, Ace?” he asked, grinning still, enjoying the contrast of the sunflowers and lilies against the blue of her bridesmaid dress.

Katherine held the bouquet in her hands, hearing from somewhere on the dance floor a camera click. She’d had have to find out who it was, so she should get a copy of the picture. “Sure thing,” she replied, smiling and Jack pulled her into his arms, moving them in slow circles.

“You look good with those flowers, Ace,” he told her as they danced.

“Thanks,” she said, letting the bouquet dangle from one hand. “But I’m thinking I’ll pick my own.”

Jack had a vision of Katherine holding a bouquet of soft pink roses and peonies and a beaten old wedding band on her left ring finger, from his mother and grandmother before. He’d have to see about getting it sized.

“You do that,” he murmured, pulling her closer still. “I look forward to it.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the _Bonnie & Clyde_ reference is entirely intentional btw


	7. reign/mary queen of scots!au

_**are we out of the woods, are we in the clear yet,** _

_**are we in the clear yet, in the clear yet, good** _

//

She is seventeen when she ascends the throne. They say she is the youngest queen in recent memory, after her father’s abrupt death calls her back from the French convent he packed her off to when she was twelve.

Katherine, Queen of Scots, steely will and razor sharp mind hidden behind a lovely face and a sweet smile. She arrives in court modestly enough, still fresh from the austerities of the French convent.  The court smiles when they see her, they remember the little girl who ran wild in the woods with a pack of boys at her side, leaves in her hair and rents in her skirts, the bane and joy of her father’s life.

They think she will be led. They think she will be happy with her ladies-in-waiting and leave the ruling to her father’s council, marry some nice Medici boy and have done with it.

A week after her arrival, she comes to the council dressed in blue and gold, a thin circlet of golden leaves against her hair. She sits in the chair her father used to occupy and says, “My lords, begin the council.”  

The court learns in a hurry that Katherine will _rule,_ not merely be some pretty figurehead sitting on her father’s throne, feet unable to touch the ground. The young lords who come to court her realize all too quickly Katherine possesses the kind of blazing, crackling intelligence that sends most of them backing into a corner. She cuts through the intrigues that thrive at court like a scythe with a smile.

She says in the hearing of others that she will only ever marry the man who does not fear her. _So she’ll be the Scottish Virgin Queen_ , crueler tongues remarked and if she heard, Katherine pretended it did not bother her and she could pay it no mind.

It is in her second year at court that a young Irish lord arrives, seeking refuge from angry English soldiers, whom he has offended _somehow,_ but no one goes into details. His name is Jonathan Sullivan Kelly, though he introduces himself to the court as Jack.  

Jack Kelly, a young Irish lord, landless, penniless and charming enough to be forgiven for these faults. He is handsome, in a dark, dashing sort of way, the kind of that made young ladies sigh over him and the other young lords find he is always game for some wild prank or wager.

Their first meeting goes like this:

“What does an Irish lord want with a Scottish court?” she asks him coolly and he smiles disarmingly, though she is not fooled.

“Even in Ireland we know of the young Scottish queen,” he says. “Beautiful, intelligent, independent and bows to no English throne. Maybe I wanted to see her for myself.”

“And are the rumors true?” she asks tartly and is completely taken aback when he takes her hand and kisses it, not the knuckles where he _should_ do it, but her palm.

“You surpass them,” he tells her and feels the slap he gets for such blatant familiarity is well worth it.

He is the one who asks the Queen to go hunting and hawking with him, isn’t shocked when she gallops past him, drunk on the feeling of the wind in her hair, instead encourages her to go _faster_. He takes her to the common villages and churches and introduces her to the people, the circle of friends he’s made, the rough peasant young men who shyly call her, “Your Highness” and then “Queen Katherine,” because they won’t use her proper name like she tells them to.  Katherine watches him help a young crippled boy up the steps of the church, ruffles his hair and teases him gently, fixes the bandages on his leg.

“You should know your people,” Jack says. “If you want to rule them well.”

Her court finds that she lets the common people come to her and settle their grievances and the young Lord Jack sits by her side and helps her come to a fair conclusion, though he rarely offers his opinion. Katherine discovers she has a knack of inspiring loyalty.  The peasant folk love her; they call her _our Lady Queen_.

 The Queen Katherine and the Lord Jack dance together at the balls more than once, flying in the face of convention, setting the court aflame with whispers and rumors.  He draws portraits of her and leaves them in imaginative places for her ladies-in-waiting to find and bring to her, giggling as they pass them to her, their young queen drawn with her hair unbound and smiling, a real smile, not the one with sharp teeth that she gives the courtiers.

It is raining on the day they meet in the library, stolen moments of privacy. Hidden among the shelves, she asks him, “What am I to you?”

For the first time he is on his knees before her, looking up at her like a man does to the sun. He takes her hands and like he did before, he kisses the palm and then the place where her pulse beats in her wrist. “You are my queen,” he tells her. “You are my flag and my nation.”

She makes him her consort.

The court thinks if he married for power, young Jack Kelly did not get what he wanted.

He did not marry her to become king.

He became consort so he could marry her.  


	8. rival debate team captains!au

“Are these masochistic tendencies a recent development?” asked David, peering at Jack. “Because there’s people you can talk to for that, you know.”

“She’s the only girl who’s ever beaten in me a in debate,” Jack replied, stuffing his books in his backpack. “And I kinda want to take her out for coffee.”

“Masochistic tendencies,” David repeated, as if it needed affirming.

Katherine Plumber, captain of Pulitzer High School Debate Team, was well known for cutting a swath through both opposing debaters and any boy brave enough to even _think_ about asking her out. Jack Kelly, the Captain of the Lower Manhattan High Debate Club, was _criminally_ charming and had a reputation for using said charm like a weapon. The matches they had together had a considerable following.

“Ace,” said Jack after one particularly heated debate about the use of censorship in history, “you ever think about coffee?”

“All the time, and never with you,” Katherine retorted. “And my name’s not Ace, it’s _Katherine.”_  

"I like calling you Ace,” said Jack mildly. “It suits you.”

Their relationship probably wouldn’t have progressed beyond their debate club matches and the snarking that went on there, until late one night Jack was leaving his job at a printing shop when he saw Katherine standing on the corner, staring at her phone in evident distress and a few unsavory characters eyeing her from the stoop. Jack locked up and hurried over, deliberately making a racket so she heard him coming. People still talked about the time she knocked out Oscar Delancey’s teeth for grabbing her ass.

“Ace,” he called, getting close, “Ace, what are you doing out here so late?”

“I got stood up,” she said tersely, gripping her bag tightly in one hand. “And my phone’s almost dead and I don’t know how to get to the subway from here—”

Carefully, Jack took her by the elbow and steered in the direction of a brighter area of the street. “Let me walk you back. I was on my way home anyways.”

It was probably a sign how agitated she’d been that Katherine didn’t argue. They made it onto the train in silence until she spoke unexpectedly, “I didn’t realize you worked.”

“Have been for a few years,” said Jack. “Helping my folks put food on the table. And we’ve always got foster kids, so every little bit helps.”

“The foster care debate,” said Katherine, eyes going wide. “You argued so hard _against_ it—” 

"System’s as broken as hell,” said Jack bluntly. “Did you know at least two families didn’t want Crutchie ‘cause he’s got a disability? The one that did want him just wanted him for a paycheck and the kids there were real rough on him, made his leg _worse_ and you’d never know it until he came to live with us, he’s always so cheerful and the poor kid’s been through _hell—”_  

He stopped abruptly, seeing realization dawn over Katherine’s face. “I thought—” she started to say, then seemed to rethink her statement, something she _never_ did on the stand, “I was under the impression—you just liked aggravating me. Not that you actually _cared_ about the topics.”

"I’m a blowhard, Ace,” Jack conceded. “But I’m a blowhard with principles.” And just to lighten the mood, he added blithely, “Aggravating you is just a bonus, and entertaining as hell.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and he grinned back shamelessly. “You are the most _impossible_ boy,” she said severely, _“ever.”_  

“Does this mean you’ll get coffee with me?” he asked, still grinning and she rolled her eyes. 

It wasn’t until he dropped her off at her upscale brownstone that she said, “Bring me a white chocolate mocha at the next debate and then we’ll talk.”

He did. And the match ended in a draw because  _this is a debate match, not speed-dating Mr. Kelly and Miss Plumber._


	9. my father's a cop and he's just arrested you!au

**_i'm trouble ya'll, i'm trouble now, i got trouble in my town_ **

//

Officer Plumber eyed the young miscreant in the back of his patrol car. In an effort to be fair, maybe he wasn’t a _total_ miscreant. He’d been picked up because of disorderly conduct outside of a bar; some lowlifes had been picking on a young boy with crutches. Plumber was pretty sure he’d never seen _anyone_ use a crutch with such devastating efficiency; the boy fought like a man twice his age.  

“I _do_ get a phone call, right?” the boy asked, the bruise on his cheekbone already turning purple. “When we get to the station?”

"You’ll get your phone call,” Officer Plumber assured him, sparing a quick glance in the rear view mirror. He _was_ young, seventeen, if that, with the skinny build of a boy who didn’t get enough to eat and was growing too quickly to do something about it. “You have anyone to call?”

The boy shrugged. “I’ll call my friend Davey. He’ll get me out.”

At that juncture, Officer Pulitzer’s cell phone rang and he tapped his bluetooth device. “Plumber here.”

“Hey dad.” His oldest daughter Katherine’s voice floated through the speaker, amused and exasperated all at once. “Mom wants to know when you’ll be home for dinner.”

“I’m bringing a boy back to the station,” Officer Plumber replied. “Tell your mom I’ll be there directly after.”

“Oh okay,” Katherine said, and added in a tone clearly meant to be a joke, “is he cute at all?”

Officer Plumber’s eyebrows rose, but he called over his shoulder, “Hey, you back there. My daughter wants to know if you’re cute.”

_“Dad!"_ came the mortified response in his ear. “I didn’t want you to _ask_   _him!”_

"I want to say yes, sir,” the boy said solemnly, but his eyes were dancing. “But that would be vanity.”

“Oh my god,” groaned Katherine on the other end, “I’m hanging up now.”

“If you like the rebel-without-a-cause type, daughter, then yes, I _suppose_ he’s cute,” Officer Plumber told her. “Tall, dark and handsome is your  _type,_ isn’t it?”

“ _I’m hanging up,”_ repeated Katherine forcibly. “Good-bye, dad, I’m formally disowning you.”

The line went dead in his ear and the boy in the backseat rocked back and forth with laughter. “Tall, dark and handsome, huh?” he got out. “ _That’s_ a first. Can that be on my rap sheet?”

"Watch it, kid,” warned Officer Plumber, but he didn’t really mean it. He’d seen hard cases before and this boy wasn’t one of them, plain and simple. “You got a job when you’re not start fights outside of bars?”

“I’m a would-be cartoonist, sir,” said the boy, laughter lingering in the corners of his eyes. “And in the spirit of honesty, I didn’t start that fight; I only finished it.”

Officer Plumber snorted at this, but didn’t argue, giving the boy in the backseat once more glance.

He’d keep an eye on him, in the holding cells. Make sure he’d get out in one piece. And if all went well–it wouldn’t the strangest way he’d ever heard of two people meeting.


	10. i've hired you to paint my apartment!au

Katherine’s father offered to pay for it; then again, Katherine’s father offered to pay for a lot of things and at this point, it was practically tradition to refuse him. 

Katherine loved her new apartment; she loved the ridiculously high ceilings and the arched windows, she loved how the early morning and late afternoon filled it with the best kind of golden light. She loved exposed brick walls in her kitchen and the fact she could sit at her tiny table with a cup of tea and a plate of breakfast and look at the window and see New York below her.

She did _not_ love the current color of the living room and hallway; a sickly looking green that might’ve been mint at one time, but now looked two steps away from looking like vomit. And Katherine’s father had offered to pay for the painters when Katherine refused to let him pay half the lease, the utilities bill or the rent. It was Medda Larkin, one of Katherine’s contacts at the newspaper for the entertainment and social section who solved the problem.

“My godson, Jack Kelly, _he’s_ a fine painter,” she told Katherine. “Not too bad a handyman, either. I’ll call him and set everything up.” She gave Katherine a sly wink. “Pretty easy on the eyes, too. _And_ he’ll work for cheap.”   

To be truthful, Katherine was more interested in the _cheap_ part of description, but, on one fine Monday morning (insofar as any Monday morning could be described as _fine_ ), Jack Kelly arrived. 

Medda hadn’t exaggerated. Jack Kelly _was_ easy on the eyes, tall and broad shouldered, unruly dark hair and hazel eyes somewhere between green and gold. He had a troublemaker’s charm to his face, a quirky mouth and a strong jaw, and alright _yes,_ Katherine had a thing for troublemakers. But she could multitask. 

“Miss Plumber?” he asked, a sharp New York accent rounding out his words. 

“Katherine,” she corrected him easily. “And you must be Jack Kelly.”

Dear Lord, that grin could be a _weapon._ “That’s me. Medda said you might have some work for me?”

“I do,” she said, letting the door swing open wider. “Come on in.”

He moved with a casual grace of a native New Yorker, who knew how to walk like he belonged wherever he went. His eyes went wide as he took in her apartment. “Coffee? Water?” Katherine offered, but he shook his head, looking around, taking everything in. 

“This is a _great_ space,” he said sincerely. “Honestly, I’m kinda jealous.” He eyed the walls. “Except for that color. Peter on the cross, that is an _awful_ color.”

“I know,” Katherine sighed, giving the walls her own displeased look. “I’m hoping you can help. I’m not really the artistic type.” 

“Everyone’s the artistic type,” Jack Kelly said firmly. “When it comes to knowing what you like.”

Katherine stole a glance at him, bathed in the favorite light of artist’s, northern light. _This could end badly,_  some cool part of her brain noted, but Jack was more focused on her apartment than her for the moment. “So,” said Katherine, regaining his attention, “any ideas?”

He grinned, wide and delighted. “ _So_ many,” he promised. “We’re gonna have some fun with this.”

* * *

Physical labor wasn’t necessarily Katherine’s idea of _fun,_ but having Jack around made it a lot more bearable. Even enjoyable, on a certain level. She and Jack argued good-naturedly about colors, before finally deciding on a warm sunshine yellow for her living room and a cool green ( _much_ nicer than the original color) for the halls. Jack even brought a bunch of his friends to help paint and one of them brought pizza for everyone. They were a rowdy, goodhearted bunch of boys, playfully ribbing Jack and sarcastically calling him “Captain” and shy around Katherine until she painted a streak of yellow paint down the back of Jack’s shirt. After that, they accepted her. 

The whole job took around three weeks. By that time, Katherine found herself wishing there was more of her apartment to paint. Jack was funny, a strange combination of self-deprecating and cocky, far too charming for his own good, and dear _Lord,_ he could banter. About anything and everything. He was a political cartoonist and stage-manager at Medda’s theater in downtown Manhattan; he paid the bills with painting. He spoke fondly of his parents who lived in Brooklyn and told outrageous and outlandish tales of the shenanigans he and his friends got into. She wasn’t sure if she had more fun poking holes in his stories or hearing them; but she never got tired of listening to him. 

At the end, her apartment was more beautiful still, the warm yellow walls making the air glow. She and Jack stood side by side, admiring it together. “It feels like home now,” Katherine said, feeling drunk with light. “Thank you so much for everything.”

Jack smiled at her, much softer and more open one than his usual charming grin. “It was my pleasure, Katherine.” His voice seemed to be an extension of the light, warm and gentle. A fine flush went up Katherine’s cheeks, but she ignored it. 

“So,” she said with somewhat forced levity, “I know we discussed payment…” 

“How about I take you out to dinner,” Jack said. “That’ll be my payment.”

Katherine’s heart jumped in her chest like hare. “I thought it was a bad idea to date clients.”

_Now_ he gave her his troublemaker grin. “I’m done with the walls,” he said, with the devil in his eyes. “But I don’t feel like being done with you yet.” 

“ _That’s_ a loaded offer,” Katherine retorted, feeling her blood fizz like champagne.  

He had callouses on his hands, paint on his fingers. They were warm around hers. “I’ll figure I’ll risk it.”  


	11. FBI agent/criminal consultant (white collar)!au

Katherine Plumber did not get to where she was in the FBI white collar unit by falling for every pretty conman who offered her a slick line.

But to be fair, Jack Kelly has some _great_ lines. 

Not that she cares. Or enjoys them. No, what Katherine enjoys most is coming back with a line of her own, sharp and not fooled by his charm. And Jack Kelly _is_ charming, criminally so, appropriately enough. He’s one of her consultants for fraud and he seems to know _everyone_ in all of New York. Katherine’s lost count of the times he’s gotten her into places that most agents couldn’t even dream of, because of “I know a guy” or “he knows me.” 

And he’s dedicated, she’ll say that much for him. Fiercely loyal. And he’s gotten in and out of plenty of scrapes with her, like that run in with Spot Conlon in Brooklyn and another one with Snyder, that corrupt judge. _That_ had been a fun one. 

She could care less about broad shoulders, eyes that could be green or gold depending on the light, or a warm voice that she’s seen other women melt at. No, Katherine has more important things to worry about, like keeping her father at bay from where he is in the CIA or Darcy from using Jack as target practice on the range.  

But when he gave her respect without her demanding for it, he trusts her judgment and intuition, and when Jack Kelly says he’s got her back, she believes him.  

//

Jack Kelly did not get to where he was as a FBI consultant by trailing along after the first gorgeous woman who threatened him with a gun.

But he _did_ do it, didn’t he? Race always said he had thing for women who could beat him up and it aggravates him to no end to see that he’s right. 

He comes from a family of charming con men and at six, both his parents had gotten killed in a con gone wrong. And when he’d gotten old enough, he offered his (considerable) expertise to the FBI, wanting to in some other kid’s life wasn’t ruined like his was.

It was Jacobi who assigned him to Katherine. And all it took was one look at her and that was it. 

Katherine Plumber is five-foot-six of gorgeous, intimidating and dedicated as hell to her job. She’s refused any help her father could’ve given her, as assistant director of the CIA, carved out a name for herself in the white collar unit, walks into a room and commands the attention of everyone it. 

It was funny that when he first met her, he’d sort of wanted to wrap her up in his arms and take care of her; she’d looked so delicate among all the other male agents, with her ladylike updo and cameo-cut features. She’d proved him wrong, hadn’t she? Able to hold her own with the best of them and be _better_ than them. They’re a good team. And yeah, he’s never had so much fun bantering with any other woman. Her seriousness to his playfulness, his flexibility to her rigidity. And she has some _spine_ to her, this girl. She does not flinch, she does not back down and _god,_ he’s in trouble, isn’t he? He’s in so much trouble. And Jack knows he would follow her to whatever end she chooses to go, even if she does threaten to shoot him once or twice along the way. 


	12. detention!au

_**she said, "oh don't you dare look back, just keep your eyes on me"** _

_**i said, "you're holding back,"** _

_**she said, "shut up and dance with me"** _

//

“Ace,” Jack whispered, leaning over his desk, almost hanging off it, “Ace, you wanna get outta here?”

Katherine shot him a look and tried to go back to her textbook, but Jack had the bit between his teeth and was not about to give it up any time soon.

“C'mon, Ace,” he persisted. “It’s almost four anyway. The teacher’s ain’t comin’ back anytime soon. Let’s just go.”

“Maybe _you’re_ okay with getting another detention,” Katherine said, trying to focus on the immigration of the twentieth century, “but _I’m_ not." 

"And Principal Plumber’s _daughter_ can’t get into any trouble,” Jack taunted and the _look_ Katherine gave him could’ve peeled paint. Jack, well accustomed to being on the receiving end of such glares, carried on valiantly. “What are _you_ even in for, anyway?” he asked.

Katherine sniffed and stared fixedly at the page in her book. “Apparently, _my father_ doesn’t appreciate it when I express my opinions in a well-thought out manner.” She paused, before adding in a mutter, “That girl did _not_ need to be sent home just for her shorts. He knew, I knew it, but he put me here anyways, but God forbid I dare disagree with him about anything.”

“Aw, Ace,” Jack murmured sympathetically and she scowled at him, but didn’t protest. “All the more reason,” Jack said, “to blow this joint.”

Katherine looked at her book one more time before looking back at him. Then she glanced around at the near empty class room and slammed it shut, shoving it in her backpack. “Well? Come on,” she said, getting up from her desk. “Let’s go.”

Grinning widely, Jack grabbed his own backpack from the floor next to his desk and followed her out, the two of them racing down the hall. “You’ve been holding out on me, Ace,” he said as they escaped into the New York spring and she retorted, “Shut up and take me to coffee, Kelly." 


	13. nervous flyer!au

Katherine  _hates_ flying. 

She hates flying and she hates planes and airports and travel and just the whole damn nine yards.  _Hates_ it. Darcy teases her that if she’d rather drive across the country to get a story, or better yet, take a train than fly, but it’s  _true._ Flying makes her nervous, makes her edgy, brings up bad memories of being stuck in airports for interminable hours on family trips when her father spent the whole time talking on his phone and she ran out of books to read and was about to go out of her mind with boredom.

The turbulence doesn’t help either, the jolts and the rattles, because she can only pretend she’s on a bumpy highway for so long until she looks out a window and remembers there’s no road beneath them, only the sky. And if _that’s_ not enough to freak a person right out, she doesn’t know what will. So she clenches her jaw and takes a death grip on the armrest, unable even to close her eyes because if the plane’s about to go down, she wants to see what’s happening.

This tends to make her a rather poor flying companion, and this upcoming trip to Santa Fe for a story was no exception. Katherine could deal with the hassle of luggage and security and waiting and  _boredom,_ but with clipped politeness. Overly friendly businessmen or inconsiderate passengers frayed the already thin threads of her patience to the point of snapping. After finally getting on the plane she makes it to a open row and shoves her carry-on into the overhead space and snags the window seat because she’s _that_ kind of masochist. She snaps on her seat belt, tension already coiled in her stomach and they haven’t even taken off yet.

There’s a rattle above her head and she turns to see a young man shoving an artist’s bag into the overhead. He tosses a laptop bag into the chair next to her before belatedly asking, “Is this seat taken?”

“No, it’s not,” is her automatic reply and he’s beside her before she can finish the sentence. He’s about her age, maybe a little older, with dark hair shoved under a newsboy cap and a troublemaker’s charm to his face. He’s tall, with long legs at a disadvantage in the cramped space, with a solid, firm build, not lanky or gangling. He had an artist’s long, clever fingers and the nails trimmed practically short.

He turned to look at her, wide, mobile mouth automatically set into a half-smile and green-gold hazel eyes with laugh lines in the corners.    ”Goin’ to Santa Fe,” he says easily, his New York accent could practically cut crystal, but his voice is low and warm. “You?” 

“Same,” she replies a bit tersely, but politely. “For business.”

He nods, accepting this. “Pleasure, for me.” There’s the slightest warmth in his voice at the word _pleasure_ , the barest of hints. It makes something fizz in her stomach like soda bubbles. “A life-long dream of mine,” he says, smiling at the thought. “Been dreamin’ about it for _years,_  now I finally get to go. Can’t wait.”

The flight attendants begin their usual safety spiel and they’re quiet for a moment. Katherine focuses on her breathing, on not breaking the armrest before they even get off the ground.

“Easy there,” the young man says softly, voice low. It’s a tone meant for soothing. “Don’t like flying?”

_“Hate_ it,” she says, too wired to politely disassemble and he nods again. Doesn’t offer any advice or stories. “Okay,” he says. “Let me know how bad it gets.”

She stares at him, momentarily distracted, because why would a total stranger care about another stranger’s distress when the take-off signal pings through the cabin. She clutches the armrest. 

The plane is starting to trundle down the runway when a warm hand settles over hers. “Easy now,” he says again, quietly, for her ears alone. “Breathe, miss, breathe. Look at me, not the window.”

She does and his face is completely and utterly focused on _her_ and it’s surprising how much his features distract her. “I’ll talk if it helps,” he says as the force of take-off pushes them both back in their seats and now Katherine finds herself clutching at his hand. “My name’s Jack Kelly and I was born and raised in Manhattan. Spent most of my life in foster homes, now I’m a cartoonist and stage manager. I went to NYU on an art scholarship.”

"I went for journalism,” she offers and that starts the conversation. He graduated a year before she did and still lives in an apartment in Manhattan with four other boys he’s known since childhood.   
“We were all in the same group home,” he says casually and tells her their names, Race, Crutchie, Specs and Romeo. The stories of their shenanigans make her forget about the plane, almost not notice the hand that holds hers is warm and strong, calloused on the fingers and palm, but cradles her own gently, a thumb absently rubbing over the back of it.

The flight is four hours long and by the second hour, they’re deep in conversation. Jack’s funny and charming, half way between cocky and self-deprecating, with all kinds of stories about working in the theater and creating his cartoon for newspapers. She’s surprised how comfortable she feels snarking with him; he seems to not only appreciate it, but _enjoy_ it. There’s warmth in his eyes as he watches her talk, something genuine and Katherine wonders if she is the first passably attractive female who’s been under that gaze.

He hasn’t let go of her hand and she’s not sure she wants to.

“Why Santa Fe?” she asks eventually and he shrugs lightly, easily.

“Wide open skies,” he says with a smile. “And I like seein’ the stars.”

“You can see stars in New York too,” she points out and he shakes his head.

“Nah, not like this,” he replies. “In one of the group homes, there was this old, beat-up National Geographic magazine and it had an article about Santa Fe. These huge, wide skies and the _stars!_ I couldn’t ever imagine stars like that, back in New York. And the land looked so wild and free, so open. Kinda attractive for a kid who grew up in cramped spaces.” 

He spoke matter-of-factly and without self-pity and Katherine found herself squeezing his hand in response. He looks into her face, smiling slow, slow, slow.

_Oh,_ Katherine thinks, her heart squeezing at the sight.  _Not good. Not good at all._   

Finally, finally, the plane lands and Katherine doesn’t hesitate to squeeze Jack’s fingers as the plane jostles around them. They make it safely to the ground and Jack makes no move to untangle their hands. “So how long you in Santa Fe for?” he finally asks, the one question they hadn’t discussed in four hours.

"A—about a week,” she says, feeling the casual strength in his grip. It would take some effort to get her hand free, if she wants to. _If_ she wants to. “Maybe two, I’m not sure. Depends on how my story goes.”

Jack nods and then he _does_ let go to fish out his phone as Katherine flexes her fingers and misses the anchor. “Well, I’ll tell you what,” he says. “I don’t want this conversation to end just yet. So how’s about I give you my number and you can call me, if you want and can find the time. I’ll be here for a week or so too.”

So Katherine takes the number. She doesn’t want the conversation to end either.

They meet up about a week into their Santa Fe trip. He takes her stargazing, the stars so bright he can draw by them. He does one of her on the blanket, looking up.

The next one he does is by the light of day in her hotel room, wrapped in nothing but sheets and sketching her in the glow of morning.     


	14. bike messenger!au

Jack Kelly is the best damn bike messenger in all of New York. 

He’s the one known for the most narrow escapes, the dodging of trucks and buses by the skin of his teeth, laughing in the face of traffic laws, and always, always getting the message there in record time. A lot of people call him _reckless,_ but that isn’t really the word for it; he loves speed and he loves going fast and the streets of New York make him feel alive, alive, alive. 

He’s also the one known for a few spectacular crashes. 

One of them goes like this:

He’s dashing through Central Park, not on a job, just because if you should ever cycle in the park you should do it in the spring when the flowers are out and the grass is green and it feels like life, and he’s whizzing along, the wind whistling in his ears, when suddenly a _girl_ walks right through the pathway. He’s going too fast to register much; just a flash of vivid purple and chestnut hair, the cover of a book. He barely has enough time to holler, “ _Look out!_ “ before veering clear off the bike path and onto the yards. His bike skids into the dirt and throws him, he’s sailing through the air and _wham,_ lands on his back hard enough to knock the breath out of him completely. 

"Oh _no,_ ” he hears a horrified female voice and suddenly he’s looking up into the most beautiful face he ever saw, delicate and lovely and energetic, clear grey-blue eyes and complexion that he’d need to use oil paint for, the rich wash of cream and rose on her cheeks.

“Are you alright?” she asks him, eyes anxious and _what an idiot,_ he actually feels bad for making her worry. “I swear I didn’t mean to walk in the bike path, I was reading my new book, that’s not an excuse, I’m sorry—” she stops talking, takes a deep breath and asks again, “Should I—do I need to call an ambulance?”

Despite whatever Race says, he’s actually not half bad with women, but maybe the fall scrambled his brains or something, because what actually comes out his mouth is, “I might be dead or somethin’, ‘cause you look like an angel to me.”

The corners of that full mouth turn down and he wants to sketch that _look,_ of exasperation and amusement dancing across her features. “Or you could be just fine,” she says dryly and he gives her a cheeky grin in response.

“I could be,” he concedes and he’s blaming the fall on this okay, “maybe you could check and see if I’m alright." 

She rolls her eyes and his grin gets a little bigger. “Come on up cowboy,” she says, grabbing his arm and pulling him to his feet with surprising strength. “Let’s go check your bike.”

Ol’ Santa Fe’s been through worse falls than this; if anything his bike looks better than he does. “I really am sorry for walking in the pathway,” she tells him and he shrugs.

"Ah, I’ve had worse,” he says easily and because if he’s anything Jack Kelly is a persistent jackass and he teases, “But maybe I could have a concussion. I shouldn’t be sleeping if I have a concussion, should I?”

She gives him a droll look in reply. “I don’t know anyone who _flirts_ right after they got a concussion,” she retorts. “But I think you’ll be just fine.”

She’s already gone before he recalls to ask her name. 

He gets a call from a newspaper office later the same day, so off he goes to deliver the message for one  _Katherine E. Plumber_. And wouldn’t you know it, the pretty girl from the park is there behind one of the desks, typing away. And _she’s_ the one he’s supposed to give the message to.

He saunters up to the desk and slides it next to her and when she looks up, he decides right then and there he’s going to sketch that face the first chance he gets. “Twice in one day, huh? I believe that’s fate,” he says and she rolls her eyes. 

“I would think it bad luck,” she says dryly, taking the clipboard and signing for it. “For you at least.”

“I don’t believe in luck,” he tells her and it’s true. He doesn’t. He believes in making your own. “The name’s Jack Kelly.” He gets up, tips his head to her. “And I’ll see you around, Miss Plumber.”

After that, every time a message for newspaper office come up, he takes it. Sometimes it’s for her and sometimes it’s not. And every time he sees her, he gives her a little grin and a nod and watches the slow smile spread across her face at the sight of him.

She takes him out for drinks a month later.  


	15. we were both in a bar fight!au

He’s got a bruise on his cheek and a black eye and Katherine is  _utterly disgusted_ by that self-satisfied grin he’s got plastered all over his ridiculous face. 

“I got him pretty good, didn’t I Ace,” Jack says, all smug satisfaction and it takes all of Katherine’s self-control not to hit him over the head with something heavy–there’s not much here in this holding cell, but she’s fairly confident, with a little bit of effort, she could improvise something handily.

“Seeing as how we’re not getting out of here until  _tomorrow,"_ she says through her teeth, "forgive me for being less than enthused.”

“I made my phone call to Davey,” Jack promises confidently. “He’ll get us out before breakfast.”

“Oh  _lovely,_ ” Katherine says sarcastically and sink back into the bench against the wall, a hand over her eyes. “Did you  _really_ have to break that man’s nose?" 

"He was making a pass at you, Ace, and he wasn’t taking no for an answer,” Jack replies calmly, without a trace of shame. “And you can’t entirely criticize either;  _you_  broke a bottle over his head.”

“He was trying to strangle you!” Katherine exclaims and Jack immediately retorts, “I had him on the ropes!" 

"Like hell you did,” she says irritably and Jack just grins at her.

“My fighting wildcat,” he says fondly. “You’ve got a pretty good arm on you, Ace. Who taught you how to throw a punch like that?”

“Darcy did,” she grumbles, “when we were children. I went through a boxing phase.”

He laughs with pure delight. “I would’ve _loved_ to see that, Ace. Hell, you could give me lessons.”

“That would enabling,” she says sternly and because the holding cell is cold and she’s tired, she leans into him, just a little and because Jack needs no invitation, his arm slips around her waist easily and pulls her close.

“You don’t have to fight my battles,” she murmurs to him and she can feel him shrug.

“I know I don’t,” he says back softly. “But I’ll do it for you until you tell me to stop.”

Katherine sighs and lets herself rest against him. “Until I tell you otherwise,” she says and feels the kiss he lays against her hair, light as breath.

They do indeed get out in time for breakfast.  


	16. i've been shrunk by a witch to four inches tall and i'm living in your kitchen!au

Katherine  _knew_ the old Italian lady from the apartment across the way was bad news. 

Always mumbling about  _fate_ and  _destiny_ and  _how some people need a push in the right direction,_ bella ragazza and the pointed looks in the direction of the handsome artist from the apartment next door, who kept such odd hours and even odder friends, who wore a battered newsboy cop and a crooked grin in her direction whenever they passed each other in the hall. 

Katherine always thought that, eventually, she’d go over and introduce herself. Eventually. When life and work wasn’t eating up so much of her time. Until the day the old Italian lady said to her in a confiding tone, “I will help you with this, yes? Tomorrow, I will help you.” Like a fool, she hadn’t thought much of it at the time. 

And that’s how Katherine woke up four inches tall in a stranger’s kitchen, dodging fallen crumbs and Empire-State-Building-sized feet. 

After indulging in a (well-earned) hysterical fit, Katherine set about to do her best in surviving this stupid state of affairs, mainly wondering whether she should make her presence known to the owner of said apartment or try to make it back to her own place and wake up from this horrible nightmare, when an _army_ (or at least, that’s what it looked like her current state) of boys came through the kitchen, all of them shouting and talking and throwing their huge clomping feet everywhere. Katherine ducked under the table and waited for the tumult to die down a little, when a voice that boomed like thunder called out, “Hey Jack, when are you ever gonna talk to that pretty reporter next door?”

Not quite willing to believe it, Katherine peered out from her vantage point to see the self-same artist she’d always seen, looking from her position to be same size as the Statue of Liberty. “When am I gonna find _time_ to talk to any pretty reporters?” he asked the speaker. “I’m always busy, with the gallery, the theater…”

A chorus of boos greeted this. “All talk, no action, Kelly,” taunted another voice. “C’mon, we’ll even help you come up with something.”

“The day I take advice on how to talk to girls from _you_  Racetrack, is the day I am well and truly screwed,” Jack’s voice retorted and this was met by jeers and laughter. Katherine leaned against an over-sized shoe, head spinning at the implications of this.  

"I haven’t seen her around since yesterday,” Jack continued. “She’s probably busy too.”

“I’m here! Down _here,_  you idiot!” Katherine shouted, unable to bear down anymore.

"Do you have mice in this apartment, Kelly?” said another voice. “I coulda sworn I heard squeaking.”

“Asshole,” Katherine growled and that was when a _huge_ hand came under the table and a voice that made Katherine clap her hands to her ears said, “Fellas…?” 

The hand wrapped around Katherine and scooped her up with surprising gentleness as another difference voice said, “Les, if it’s a mouse, put it down before it bites you.” 

Katherine felt the alarming sensation of being _raised_ in the air, clinging helplessly to the thumb above her head as the voice of a young boy said slowly, “Um, guys?”

The hand set Katherine gently on the table as a dumbstruck silence fell over the kitchen, to be shattered by the sound of something crashing to the floor and breaking, someone’s coffee mug, probably.

“Davey,” said a boy with a cigarette almost falling out of his agape mouth, “that sure as hell ain’t no mouse."  _  
_

Katherine drew herself up to her full (apparent) height of four inches and glared at them as imperiously as she could. “About time,” she said frostily.

"Race, what the _hell_ did you put in my coffee?” said another voice, pitched high with alarm, and the one with the cigarette in his mouth exclaimed, “Don’t blame _me,_ I ain’t touched no one’s coffee!”

The kitchen promptly dissolved into shouting and exclamations, leaving Katherine covering her ears and looking for shelter.  Another hand, larger than the first and smudged with ink on the fingers, scooped her up abruptly and held her close, the sound of a huge heart thundering against her ears. “Pipe down, all of you,” hollered Jack’s voice and the kitchen slowly descended into quiet. Katherine was lifted again, this time level to his face. This close up, details like the scruff on his chin and the gold flecks in his hazel eyes seemed a lot more noticeable, and magnified to her tiny size.

"You look too mad to be a dream,” said Jack slowly and Katherine snorted. “And you feel plenty real to me,” he added as Katherine said sarcastically, “ _You think?”_

"So how’d you end up in my kitchen?” he asked, with surprising reasonableness and Katherine took a moment to thank her lucky stars he had _some_ sense.

“I think the old Italian lady cursed me,” she said unhappily as one of the boys said from behind, “What’s she sayin’?” as more voices shushed him.  

“She said she was going to _help,”_ Katherine said through clenched teeth. “This is  _not helping.”_  

"The real question is,” said Jack slowly and carefully, “how we’re gonna get you back to your average size. You think she would help us?”

“You probably have to get _yourself_ out of it,” suggested one of the boys; he had dark hair and a long nose. “That’s how it works in the fairy tales.” 

"This ain’t no fairy tale, Dave,” said Jack dubiously, when the little boy who found her piped up with, “How about true love’s kiss?”

Everyone turned to stare at Katherine, still cupped protectively in Jack’s palm as a boy with glasses said warily, “How’s that gonna work, exactly?”

“Dunno,” said Jack, looking at Katherine, “but no offense, miss, I don’t see how your day could get any worse.”

“You’re probably right,” said Katherine unhappily.

“Well,” said Jack, taking a deep breath like he was about to plunge into deep water, “here goes nothing.”

Something warm and soft brushed against her, like two very careful pillows. There was sudden rushing, falling sensation and Katherine thought for one horrible moment he had dropped her.

Her feet landed on the floor with a bone-jarring smack and Katherine landed against Jack’s chest her proper size again, noting with some distant shock her head fit perfectly under his chin, and his hands spanned her waist.

“Holy Christ it worked,” he said stunned, gazing into her face with wonder.

A giddy laugh escaped her, equal parts relief and joy as the kitchen plunged into chaos again.

Meanwhile, old Mrs. Conlon chuckled contentedly, gazing into her tea cup. The leaves did not lie; there would a wedding in that apartment in five years’ time.  


	17. jealous kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set in canon 'verse, with appearances from the ladies of "the stakes are high, the water's rough, but this love is ours"

_**"** **Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm:**_

_**f** **or love** **is strong as death; jealousy is** **cruel as the grave** **\--" Song of Solomon 8:6, KJV** _

//

For all their pointed remarks and tell-tale smirks and significant glances exchanged when they thought she wasn’t looking, Katherine’s “childhood friends” seem to be quite taken with her husband.

Which Katherine did not like. At all.

Jack _was_ being charming though, his most roguish, playful grin and banter. In an effort to be fair, she’d _asked_ him to be on his best behavior and that’s _it_ for Jack. It didn’t help matters any that he was wearing his one good shirt and tie with his formal waistcoat, with the sleeves _rolled up_ and Katherine hasn’t met a woman yet who doesn’t follow Jack with her eyes when he looks disheveled and rumpled, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles.

She’d have him to herself in another hour. By then he would be complaining about how the tie was strangling him and she would tease him and help him _out_ of the shirt and he’ll get this damn corset off of her.

Just as soon as Mariah Wentworth stopped making sheep eyes at her husband.

Honestly, she could probably stand everything else if it wasn’t for such _raging_ hypocrisy. After all their snide comments about Katherine preferring “rough trade” or “getting the newspaper early” or the remarks about how much better Katherine could’ve done.  Lillian Hargrove was actually _batting her eyelashes._

Suddenly, Katherine had had enough. She wouldn’t make them go yet because tea wasn’t over and Katherine could play this game as well as any of them—she came in bearing the full tray, leveling her most devastatingly brilliant smile. Jack, being well-versed in the sincerity of her smiles, caught her eye and raised one eyebrow in silent question. She let her smile soften and become real for him and in defiance of all her society acquaintances, bent and kissed him lingeringly on the mouth, far too long any properly married lady.

She heard the gasps and forced coughs and someone (probably Agnes) whispered, “Oh _my”_ but she didn’t stop until she needed to be able to breathe. Jack’s face was dazed and the look he gave could’ve lit several fires, but all he did was stroke one finger down her palm, under the table as she lowered herself back into her chair with all the dignity she could.

“Ace, you got a jealous streak,” he laughed when that interminable tea was finally over, after she’d dragged him to bed and ridden him until her legs couldn’t hold her upright anymore.

She propped herself up one elbow, completely unrepentant. “You know I was the only girl among boys for a long time,” she reminded him grinning. “I’m not good at this sharing business.”

“Mmm,” Jack rumbled, rolling them both over so he was on top. “I’m truly grateful for it, Ace.”


	18. i like my body when it is with your body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set during their honeymoon (could be interpreted as either modern or canon 'verse)

**_"and quite possibly i like the thrill_ **

**_o_** **_f under me you quite so new"_ **

//

One week into their honeymoon and Katherine can’t even get out of bed because her legs refuse to support her.

“Really?” she groaned, flopping back against the pillows. “ _Really?_ ”

Ostensibly, Jack is asleep, but she can feel the pillows under his head trembling with suppressed laughter, so she leans over and smacks his shoulder, not very hard, all things considered.

“This is all your fault,” she informed him and he opened his eyes to _grin_ at her, the shameless boy.

 “Ace, I distinctly don’t recall hearin’ you complain,” he informed her, with one arm, he dragged her closer. “More like you nearly pulled my hair out when I asked you if you wanted me to go slow.”

“You _were_ going slow,” she muttered, though apparently being a married woman hasn’t quite knocked the tendency to blush out of her when discussing what it is exactly married couples do in the privacy of their beds. Which she and Jack have covered. Thoroughly. Extensively. Almost three whole days of not getting out of bed and his touch _still_ sends fire racing through her veins.

“You paid me back for it though,” he says softly in her ear. “I think I’ve got scratches all the way down my back,” he sounds pleased by the thought. “Not to speak of the _bite_ marks, Ace, you got a violent streak.”

“ _You’re_ one to talk,” she replied. “I can’t even get out of bed thanks to you.”

Jack sighed loudly, put upon and martyred. He rolled them over, covering her like a blanket, already laying kisses on her jaw and throat. “Why would you _want_ to get out of bed?” he murmured into her skin. “It’s our honeymoon, Ace. We don’t have to go nowhere.”

“What about food? The bathroom?” Katherine argued valiantly, but her husband’s mouth is clever and wandering and she’s already losing her train of thought.

“Room service,” he said, his hands tracing the outline of her hips and sliding up and down her sides. “After all, it _was_ a wedding gift. Shame not to take advantage of it.”

“We haven’t tried the bathtub yet,” she gasped out, because Jack’s mouth was on her breasts and his hand sliding into the secret places of her, scattering her thoughts like so much confetti.

“Mmm,” Jack hummed into her heartbeat, smiling. “ _That’s_ something to think about, Ace. But it can wait for a little while longer.”

Conversation ceased for the next two hours, until Katherine dragged Jack out of bed and into the luxurious bathroom, into the tub where they got almost enough water on the floor to go swimming.    


	19. it's not theirs to speculate if it's wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the neighborhood ladies speculate on the new couple living in the tenement, the Kellys

_**so don't you worry your pretty little mind** _

_**people throw rocks at things at shine** _

_**and life makes love look hard** _

//

It’s not a secret in the tenement that the new couple, the Kelly’s, can hardly keep their hands off each other. They’re only a few weeks into the marriage after the honeymoon and all the older wives sigh or roll their eyes, depending on the temperament.

“I think it’s lovely,” says Mrs. O’Callaghan, as the wives gather in one of their kitchens one morning to discuss the new couple. “They’re young, they’re in love, they’re _happy_ …”

“It’s indecent,” says Mrs. Vandenberg, tight-lipped and disapproving. “Did you know I saw the two of them on the side of the building one afternoon? That boy nearly had his wife’s legs _around his waist_ and she was _letting_ him. There are _children_ in this building.”

“Well, they have to learn _sometime_ don’t they,” said Mrs. Acari wickedly. “There’ll be a baby in that apartment next year sure enough.”

“How can they, if they _both_ work?” wondered Mrs. Dunajski. “And for the _newspapers,_ of all things! The poor children can hardly take of _themselves_ , let alone a baby.”

“From what I understand, the girl’s parents don’t _entirely_ approve,” said Mrs. Owens knowingly. “ _And_ she comes from a wealthy family. That poor boy’s an orphan to boot.”

“An orphan?” echoed Mrs. Vandenberg disbelievingly. “Then where do all those boys come from at all hours of the day and night, and not leaving until morning?”

“Well, I think they’re the husband’s friends,” said Mrs. Owens thoughtfully. “From what I’ve heard,” and all the wives roll their eyes, because no doubt Mrs. Owens has been practically laying her ear to the walls to get what she’s overheard.

“All the same,” said Mrs. Vandenberg, still radiating censure, “someone should tell them that they should keep their… _activities_ to their _own_ apartment. And not _begin_ a child out in the open where anyone could see.”

“You’ll do no such thing, Rosa,” snapped Mrs. O’Callaghan. “Leave those poor children _alone_. I knew the husband’s mother; any son of Eileen Kelly can manage just fine without anyone interfering.”

“Oh look,” said Mrs. Acari, “here they come now.”

All five of the wives turn their heads towards the window overlooking the street.

The Kelly’s were walking down the street together, hand in hand. The wife was talking animatedly, eyes shining and the husband gazed down into her face like he couldn’t bear to stop. In the middle of her sentence, he stopped her with a hand on her arm, pulled her close and kissed her deeply, heedless of onlookers or pedestrians.  Her arms went up behind his neck and into his hair, almost knocking off his newsboy cap.

“Ah,” sighed Mrs. O’Callaghan and Mrs. Acari together; Mrs. Vandenberg sniffed and Mrs. Dunajski looked wistful as Mrs. Owens craned her neck for a better look.

“It’s shameful,” complained Mrs. Vandenberg and Mrs. O’Callaghan shook her head.

“No,” she said firmly. “It’s _good._ ”

There was a wistful silence in the kitchen as the wives watched the young Kelly’s walk up the steps into the building, their laughter drifting up to them through the open window, the husband teasingly calling his wife “Ace,” with the affection in it as clear as sunlight.             


	20. when i get back home to you, we're gonna start a fire

Katherine knew Jack sketched her quite a lot. After she’d left him for the night, the next day she’d usually find an impromptu portrait of her tucked in her satchel, among the drafts of her stories. He drew other things for her too: the streets before the sun was up and the world was still asleep, Race with a cigar jammed in one corner of his mouth, studying the paper, the stars above the fire escape where he still slept sometimes.

She got him oil paints and brushes for his twentieth birthday and the sheer delight and awe on his face was worth every penny.

He insisted on using them on her first, a portrait of her at her typewriter in a wash of mellow golden light.

“Am I really that pretty?” she asked him half-jokingly when he showed her the finished product.

Jack pulled her onto his lap, both of them heedless of the paint smears on his clothes. “I can’t ever do you justice,” he told her and she kissed him for such utter nonsense, but didn’t argue.

 The next thing he used the oil paints for was a cityscape, the view on the fire escape at dawn and sunset. Most of his paintings he kept at Medda’s theater and one or two he gave away as gifts, heedless of payment or cost.

Once they were married, most of his works they hung on the walls of their apartment and much to Jack’s astonishment and Katherine’s amusement, when Mrs. Pulitzer visited once, she asked Jack if she could commission him for a work. “I could do it for you as a gift,” Jack protested. “I wouldn’t feel right, ma’am, taking your money for it.”

Katherine and her mother exchanged glances. “Then let us call it a gift,” said Mrs. Pulitzer.

Jack painted a view of the Hudson Bay, with the sun setting and the water afire. Mrs. Pulitzer hung in it the foyer of her house. Jack actually hid his face behind his cap the first time they saw it. “God Almighty,” he muttered, “I didn’t think she’d do _that_.”

“And why shouldn’t she?” Katherine whispered back, grinning at Jack’s uncharacteristic embarrassment. “It’s worth hanging where everyone can see it.”

“Is there a hole for me to crawl into,” Jack said under his breath and Katherine covered her laugh with her hand.

Two days after Katherine’s twenty-fourth birthday and two years since they married, Katherine came home to meet Jack grinning hopefully at her. “I got back from an art show,” he started as Katherine took off her coat and satchel. “Bunch of brand new artists, just came in from France.  Medda suggested it. Do you think you could pose for me?”

“Sure,” Katherine said absently, already undoing the laces on her boots. She usually went in stocking feet around the apartment anyway. “Where?”

“In our bed,” he said and said in a rush, like he couldn’t get the words out fast enough, “Without-your-clothes.”

Katherine wheeled around, eyebrows flying straight up, as Jack continued to almost trip over the words in his excitement, “Lotta of these French painters, they do ladies with no clothes on and the society folk who were there called it _art_ and I kept looking at them and I thought, _Katherine’s prettier than them_ and there’s lots of new ways of doin’ it and they look _beautiful,_ but if you don’t want to you don’t have to I understand—”

Katherine moved across the space separating them and shut him up in her favorite way, by kissing him. “Sure,” she breathed against his lips as they parted. “Just—no one sees it, okay? Just you and me. Okay?”

Jack nodded fervently, hands sliding up her back and spanning the width of it. “Okay.”

They pulled back the covers of their bed and Katherine pulled the pins out of her hair at Jack’s request. He helped her undress, fingers trembling slightly as he undid the laces and buttons. “Relax,” Katherine said as they undid her corset ties. “You’ve done this before.”

“I feel like that should be my line,” Jack joked, but his hands steadied a little.

Katherine stayed in her chemise as Jack readied his easel, paints and canvas at the foot of their bed. She waited until his back was turned and he said, “Okay, I think I’m ready.”

“Good,” said Katherine and pulled off her chemise without ceremony. She heard Jack choke at the sound of the fabric hitting the floor.

“Give a guy a little warning would you,” he said weakly at the sight of her, completely naked and in the broad daylight of their bedroom, hair down around her shoulders.

Katherine straightened her shoulders, then rolling her eyes at how Jack’s eyes immediately went to her breasts. “Where do you want me?”

Jack cleared his throat, kneading his hands together. “Um—on the bed,” he said, studying the tousled covers. “Kind of—loose, like. Like you just woke up.”  Katherine climbed up on their bed and made herself comfortable, acutely aware of Jack’s eyes following her every movement. 

“Okay,” she said. “Now what?”

“Saint Peter on the cross,” Jack muttered. He came over slowly, studying her, brows drawn together. “Maybe I didn’t think this all the way through.”

Katherine grinned up at him. “Too late, no backing out now. It’s for _art._ ”

“No one is seeing this,” Jack said, reaching out to carefully adjust her legs. “ _No one_. I mean it.”

Once he had gotten her situated to his satisfaction, Jack returned to his easel, picking his artist’s palette and getting on the chair he’d brought. “Christ,” he said softly when he looked at her. “You’re beautiful.”

Katherine smiled and stretched languorously, enjoying the way Jack’s eyes went wide. “I believe you are blushing, Mr. Big Artiste. I can’t imagine Monsieur Monet blushing.”

“He does landscapes,” Jack replied, watching her every move. “Stop that, or we’re not gonna get anywhere.”

“Okay,” Katherine relented and relaxed against the pillows.

Jack must’ve painted for a few hours, Katherine watching him. Occasionally his eyes would leave the canvas and travel up and down her body, her breasts, her hips and waist, the length of her legs, the place between them.  Then his eyes would meet hers and Katherine felt the temperature in the room soar like it was the height of summer.

The sun was beginning to set when he started to wind down, setting the room ablaze with unreal golden light. Katherine drowsed with her head rest against her arm, basking in the warmth of the dying sun. “Ace,” Jack said softly, his voice seemingly a great distance away, “Ace, angel, I’m done for now.”

“You are?” Katherine asked hazily, rising her head. “How does it look?”

Jack didn’t answer right away, staring at the canvas. “I’m—I’m not sure. I’m afraid to say.”

Katherine sat up, stretching the stiffness out of her limbs. “Is that a good thing?” When Jack didn’t answer right away, she asked concernedly, “Jack? Are you alright?”

Instead of answering, her husband got up from his chair and made his way to her side of the bed.  Without a word, he reached out and pulled her close, kissing her deeply. Katherine rose to her knees so their faces were level, her arms sliding around his neck. The sensation of rough cotton against her bare skin was…interesting, to say the least, so she pulled him closer still.

Jack groaned, the sound deep in his throat, and leaned forward, landing them on the bed with him on top of her. She pulled him further up the bed and the sound of his shoes landing on the floor was very loud. “Ace,” he muttered into her mouth, hands roaming, leaving streaks of paint on her skin, “Ace, Katherine, angel…”

He kissed her neck and throat and breasts, scooting down her body and keeping her still with his hands braced on her waist and hips. “Jack Kelly,” she panted out, trying to yank at his shirt and vest with little success, “if you don’t make love to me _right this second_ —”

“Lemme do this first,” he said, kissing her hip and the inner part of her thigh. Katherine groaned and pulled at his shirt again helplessly. “Please, Ace,” he said, another kiss. And another, a nose nudging at her skin. “Ace, I kept thinkin’ of doin’ this the whole damn time, Ace, _please—”_

She let out a hiss. “Don’t you _dare_ torment me,” she started and then almost shrieked when he devoured the place between her legs.

He was impatient today; normally he took his time with doing this, dragging it out until she almost pulled his hair out from the roots for going so slow, but now it was as if he was starving and she was the first meal he’d had in days.

The light got dimmer and dimmer in their room, but neither one of them noticed.

Finally, when she was boneless and trembling with the aftershocks, he pulled his mouth away and rose to his knees, fumbling with his clothes.

“About damn time,” Katherine growled and undid his trousers with a sharp jerk. His vest received similar treatment and landed on the floor next to their bed with _flump_ of clothing and finally, finally, _finally_ , her husband was naked and Katherine wasted no time flipping their positions and Jack landed on his back, staring up at her with wide, wide eyes, like he was afraid to blink.

His clenched hands left streaks of paint on the sheets, but it didn’t seem important.

* * *

Sometime later, when they finally peeled themselves out of bed and Katherine finally decided to put on her robe, they had a very late supper and Jack showed Katherine the portrait.

“So the boys are _definitely_ not seeing this one,” she remarked as they admired it.

“Definitely not,” Jack agreed, sliding one arm around her waist. “I’m taking this one to my grave.”

Katherine leaned against him, resting her head against his chest. “I still don’t think I look _that_ pretty—” Jack made a noise of protest—“but,” she continued, “this time, I’m willing to take your word for it.”

Jack kissed her hair lightly. “I appreciate it, Ace,” he laughed. “I really do.”  

 


	21. a vertical expression of horizontal desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katherine and Jack, three styles of dance

**_an Irish jig_ **

_no maid I’ve seen like the brown colleen,_

_the star of the County Down!_

The first time Katherine dances with Jack, he swings her around the floor Jacobi’s, her skirts flying and her hair sailing out behind her. The boys behind them whoop and holler and clap, as a group of musicians play a raucous tune, all fiddles and pennywhistles and a drum Katherine feels in her blood.  Katherine lifts her skirts to free her feet and imitates the wild stomps and fancy footwork she’s seen other dancers do, as Jack looks on with a proud, admiring grin. They link arms and spin around the floor, gaining enough momentum to leave the floor and straight into the air, Katherine thinks.

She’s flushed and glowing with exhilaration and exertion and later, up against the wall of her apartment, Jack tastes it on her throat and breasts.

**_swing_ **

_like a wild train rollin’, so wild and full of steam,_

_once you get us going, it’s like nothing you have seen_

“Don’t you trust me, Ace?” Jack asks, pulling at her carefully curled ponytail.

Katherine cuts him a look. “Do you _promise_ to catch me?” she demands pointedly.

Jack raises his right hand to the ceiling. “My hand to God,” he says solemnly and she doesn’t believe a word of it.

But he _is_ a good partner, he does the lifts and twirls well and he _does_ catch her when he throws in her the air, easily, like she weighs nothing.  For the first time, Katherine doesn’t feel uncomfortable using some of her really good moves, and letting someone match her.  

They don’t win first prize at the hop, but they got out for shakes after and neck in the back of Jack’s car, so Katherine considers that a win.

**_waltz_ **

_but in your dreams whatever they be_

_dream a little dream of me_

He’s a lot better with fast dances, Katherine thinks, than the slow ones. Jack loves to move, loves the fast pace and beat, so when they try out the waltz for the first time, she gets accidentally kicked in the shin more often than not.

“You’re overthinking this,” she says finally, after they take a break for her to rub her ankles. “Did you know the waltz used to be considered scandalous because of the close way couples would hold each other?”

Jack raises his eyebrows. “You and I have held each other a _lot_ closer than what we were just doing.”

She refuses to blush, because that will just egg him on. “What I _mean_ is—the waltz is about trust and closeness between partners. The girl _lets_ the guy lead because she trusts him, you see?”

They try again and this time, he gets it. They sweep around their apartment floor like graceful, flowing circles.

“Not too bad, huh?” Jack asks proudly. “Just in time for the reception.”    _  
_


	22. going from road to road, bed to bed, lover to lover

**_there’s no salvation for me now,_ **

**_no space among the clouds_ **

**_and I feel I’m headed down,_ **

**_but that’s alright, that’s alright, that’s alright_ **

//

Katherine knows that Jack is affectionate. She’s watched him wrap an arm around a newsie’s shoulder casually, ruffle Les’s hair as he walks by, lets Crutchie lean on him and adjusts the bandages on his bad leg with careful, gentle hands. He gives his physical affection away as naturally as breathing; sometimes it was a shock to her when he wrapped his arms around her from behind, reached out and played with her hair if she was talking, or kissed her in the middle of a busy street, completely careless of onlookers.

When they’re at home together alone (occasionally, because there’s usually a newsie or two sacked out on their floor or sofa and Katherine accepted that a long time ago), the only difference is Jack’s affection becomes a little more…pronounced. 

Which sometimes manifests as kissing her like the world is ending up against the wall of their living room.

He gets like this sometimes, as if he’s afraid she’ll vanish if he lets go, as if he needs reassurance she’s still with him, that this is their home and she’s not leaving. She doesn’t like to admit it but sometimes, that’s what she worries about _him_ , that one day he’ll finally get sick of this town and head out that Santa Fe. She made a promise long ago she’d follow wherever he went, that she’d be by his side and she’ll keep that promise even if it means leaving with him. 

But it’s not like that today. Today, they kept missing each other all week, what with her job and him being with the Union and the newsies and now that they _finally_ have some time to themselves, they’re catching up.

So she laughs into his mouth, wraps her arms around his neck, moving her hips against his. “Angel,” he says into her mouth, “sweetheart, the bedroom—”

“No,” she says, tightening her grip, “here, now.”

 “And you a married woman,” he says, mouthing the tendons in her neck.

“Married to you, so it’s all your fault,” she replies, feeling her hair coming out of its neat up-do from Jack’s eager attentions.

She fumbles with the buttons on his trousers and she’s already too impatient for teasing, shoving a hand down his trousers without preamble and the _sound_ he makes, guttural and strained causes her to grin.

“You’re gonna finish me before I begin,” he says into the curve her neck that he loves to kiss, hips rocking into her hand.

“Then get busy,” she retorts and without warning, Jack moves away and is on his knees in front her, the look in his eyes pure wickedness. He guides her legs over his shoulders, impatiently shoving her skirts out the way.

Katherine moans and lets her head fall heavily against the wall. Every time Jack does this to her, her legs don’t support her for _hours._ She is reduced to a gasping, begging mess of a girl and she doesn’t know whether to love it or hate it.  

He peels her stockings away; she kicked off her shoes long ago. Long, clever, fingers slide up her legs and slide her drawers down, once they’re around her ankles, he pushes them away and there is something so very debauched about her husband’s head between her legs, the two of them still fully clothed in the broad daylight of their apartment.  

The thought of the apartment brings an unwelcome memory; Katherine tries to gather her wits enough to ask, “We locked the door, right?”

Jack cranes his head in the direction of their door before confirming, “Yep, we locked it.” His head disappears under her skirts again.

“Oh good,” Katherine sighs and forgets that there was such thing as a door and a lock.

Her husband has a talented mouth and quick tongue and sometimes he uses it for truly depraved reasons. She’s supported by the wall and her balance on his shoulders; she trusts him to keep her steady. His hands are on her hips and his mouth is working eagerly at her flesh.

The first time he did this to her, they were on their honeymoon and Jack had been so fascinated by her reaction he’d kept _on_ doing it, for _hours_. He’d devoured her until she screamed herself hoarse and her legs were jelly. Now he drags out, tongue drawing lazy circles on the nerve endings that make her go off like fireworks.  He uses his teeth too, _very_ gently scraping over her mound, and she digs her nails into his shoulders and _keens_. The rumble of Jack’s growl at her core makes her hips buck further into his mouth and she’s coming apart, she’s set alight, flying to pieces.

He gives her a few moments to recover, kissing the inside of her thighs and knees and when her heartbeat evens out a little, he starts the process all over again. “Bastard,” she gasps out, spine arching, “you cocky little son of a—”  

Jack _hums_ and his chin, rough from being unshaved, scrapes across her already over-sensitive skin.  She writhes.

“Be nice,” he says against her skin and she can feel him smile.

“Don’t,” she starts to say and his tongue flicks over the part of her that makes her dissolve.

“Don’t what,” he murmurs and she squirms above him impatiently. “I’m waitin’ Ace,” he says, his chin rasping against the tender skin of her thighs. “What don’t you want me to do? I can’t help you unless you tell me.”

“I hate you,” she says and nearly shrieks at what his tongue does; she might explode.

“That wasn’t it,” he says, nose nudging her gently. “C’mon, Ace. Tell me. I’ll do whatever you want, anything you want. Just tell me.”

Katherine moans and her head falls with a _thud_ against the wall. The neighbors will complain and she doesn’t give a damn. “Don’t stop,” she pants out, “don’t—you— _dare_ —stop.”

“There it is,” he says and Katherine sinks her nails into his shoulders, spine arching off the wall. He doesn’t torment her further; she comes undone with his name strangled on her lips and her body sagging. He lets her knees slide off his shoulders and grins up at her, mouth wet and lips swollen. Despite the fact her knees feel like jelly, she hauls him upright and kisses him, tasting herself right off him. His hips settle against hers and she can feel the strength of how much he wants her, right through the layers of clothes.

“Bed,” he tells her and she doesn’t argue and their clothes fall to the floor like leaves in autumn as they stagger back to their bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't know how many of these I have stashed away on my tumblr; I guess we're about to find out.


End file.
